The New Neighbors - A Lifetime of Teaching and Friendship

Story of new neighbors and the relationship we developed over a few short years

It was the typical June day in northeast Oklahoma. The spring rains had been over for several weeks. It was late morning. There was a gentle breeze blowing and the temp was in the upper 80s already. It was going to be a hot, muggy day as usual. I was 10 years old.

Most of my neighborhood friends had already departed for their annual summer vacations with their families. I was bored to death. I eyed my favorite place to be on days like this. It was a huge cherry tree on the corner, located just down the street from my house. It was covered with the darkest, sweetest cherries you’ve ever tasted. As was usual for me, I climbed the tree up almost to the top and way out very near the end of my favorite limb. It was a very unbalanced position but worth the risk because this is where all the best cherries were found.

I was pulling away at the tiny branches and with each yank of my hand, I was rewarded with a handful of the delicious cherries. Having already filled my stomach and my shirt pockets, I had just removed my hat and was dumping a handful into it when this strong voice rang out below me, startling me, nearly causing me to fall out of the tree. This strange voice said, ‘what are you doing up there young man, you’re going to break the limbs on that tree. Then it will die and there will be no cherries to pick’.

 

I looked down to see a very large, partially  bald, gray haird old man looking up at me. I wondered where did this man come from? He doesn’t live here. I replied ‘Oh it’s okay we always climb up and pick the cherries’. The owner of the house lets us do it'. He quickly replied ‘I am the new owner of the house, now come down from there and we’ll talk about this’.

 

I was shocked. Were we going to lose our cherry tree; the very tree that provided us with a tasty treat on these summer days, the tree that provided us a hiding place when we boys wanted to pull a mischievous stunt on some unsuspecting soul?  I sure hoped not but was more worried about being turned over to my stepfather by this new neighbor for climbing his cherry tree.

I slowly worked my way out of the cherry tree and down to the ground. I was taking my time because I was scared. This old man looked tough and I was still afraid I might be in trouble at home over this. As I slowly looked up and met eyes with this stranger, I noticed the friendly smile. Maybe he wasn’t going to be so bad after all. He introduced himself as Mr. Dotson and asked my name. I was thinking of telling him I was another of the neighborhood boys but decided he would eventually find out the truth so I said ‘hi Mr. Dotson, my name is John’. He reached across the fence to shake hands. I wasn’t sure whether to shake or not but finally did. His huge hand swallowed mine and surrounded it with a surprising gentleness I hadn't expected.

Mr. Dotson began by telling me he didn’t mind at all that us neighborhood boys picked the cherries.  He said there is a right way and a wrong way to pick them and climbing the tree was the wrong way. He would find a way to do it so we didn’t climb the tree and break the limbs. He also would pay if I picked cherries for him and his wife so she could make jelly. I was excited.  I would be able to enjoy the cherries after all and even make money while I was doing it.  Life was going to be good.

He invited me to come around the house, into the yard and we would get some tools so I could continue picking cherries. We brought his ladder and a long wooden handled tool with a hook on the end of it. He taught me how to use the hooked tool to gently pluck the cherries off the limbs without doing much damage. When I had picked about half a bucket of cherries, he said ‘come on down now and let’s take a break from the heat’. I was beginning to get really hot and sticky and I needed a cold drink of water. I asked if I could get a drink of water from the hose and he said ‘sure, help yourself young man’.

 

As I was drinking and washing my face, an older lady came out of the house carrying a tray with three large glasses of iced tea and a platter of cookies. Mr. Dotson introduced her as his wife, Mrs. Dotson. We all sat on the patio drinking our tea and talking. Time slipped away faster than it ever seemed to in the past. As that summer day came to a close, I realized two very nice people had come into my life this day. Even at this young age, I had a feeling they would somehow play an important part in my life.  I was just unsure what it would be.

I learned that Mr. and Mrs. Dotson were both 77 years old. He was a retired oil executive, she a retired teacher. They had been high school sweethearts and when Mr. Dotson said it, I saw his eyes meet hers. There was no mistaking the look they gave each other. The deep love and strong bond they shared could not be denied as they looked into each other’s eyes.

This was a look I would become very familiar with through years to come, as our friendship grew into a genuine love for each other, me for them and them for me.  It was something akin to that of a parent/child love. Of course, now I recognize that look as one shared by two people totally devoted to each other their whole lives. Even for one as young as I, there was no mistaking the deep love these two people shared.  Watching the Dotsons gazing into each others eyes, with those loving smiles on their faces, oblivious to the rest of the world, it always made my heart swell with a happiness unlike anything ever had before nor has since.  I always dreamed of finding a love like these two shared, but some things are not to be.

I learned the Dotsons had 2 sons but rarely saw them now. They lived up north, all the way in Kansas City, and were busy raising their own families and making a living. I told them about my family and that I would be going to my Grandparent’s farm to help them out beginning next summer.  My own grandparents were up in years and my granddad needed help working the 850 acres of farm.  They needed lots of help and it was to be my important job to provide that help at 12 years old, an important task ahead for sure.

And so it was, the beginning of a new friendship, one that would last a lifetime, though I didn’t know it at the time. I felt an instant bond to these two elderly people. For reasons I didn’t understand, I was comfortable from the moment I’d shaken hands with Mr. Dotson. In the days, weeks and months to follow, this normally shy boy opened up with this couple like I never had with anyone else before in my life.

They rewarded my constant presence by sharing their vast knowledge. He inspired me by teaching me about vegetable gardening, which I enjoy to this day. They introduced me to a whole new view of the world through National Geographic and the Public Broadcasting Network. They taught me about the wildlife that I so dearly love and have enjoyed my whole life. Even more than my own parents, they taught me values that I still possess today. I could never do enough to repay what they gave to me. I was thirsty for the knowledge they so freely shared.. We spent countless hours together sharing stories, watching TV and just spending time together. I truly grew to love these two people like they were my own Grandparents.

As I grew older, Mr. Dotson taught me about love. He told me of how he had gone to ask Mrs. Dotson’s father for permission to take her to their high school sweetheart dance. And, how a few years later he went to ask her father’s permission to take her as his bride. As they looked at each other you could see they were still very much in love. Even as inexperienced as I was, the deep love they had for one another was impossible to go without notice.

I was now 17 and had already signed up to go into the Marines. The war was at its highest levels now. I stopped by and told the Dotson’s of my decision and the Mrs. began crying. She pulled me to her and said we’ll miss you so much young man, but we are so proud of you son. Son?  Those were some of the most special words I’d ever heard. Tears began to well up in my eyes.  He hugged me, telling me how proud he was of the young man I’d grown to be.  He shook my hand just as he had some 7 years ago on that soft summer day when we first met under that old cherry tree.  I said my good-byes and left, somewhat sad, but proud.  Proud of the friendship we had developed and proud to know I had two of the most special people in the world in my life.

When I was injured in Vietnam and after being hospitalized for a few weeks, I was sent home on convalescents leave. My second stop after visiting with my parents was to be with the Dotson’s. I knocked on the door and Mrs. Dotson appeared.  As usual, she had a huge smile on her face when she recognized me, but I immediately saw something very different in her eyes.

I realized that I was seeing the look of grief and one of deep pain in her eyes. Perhaps something I learned to recognize while I was in Vietnam. I should have known but I had to ask her.  I asked where Mr. Dotson was, but watching as tears formed in the corners of her sad eyes, the answer was painfully clear. No words were necessary. She began to sob softly as she told me Mr. Dotson had passed away the previous spring. I don’t believe a bullet piercing my heart would have hurt any worse at this moment. The feeling of loss was immediate and harsh. I was so very sad for Mrs. Dotson. I was sad for me.  The tears of loss poured out of my eyes and down my cheeks. 

We held each other tightly not saying a word. But, I could sense the strong feeling of loss and grief in this woman I had grown to love like a grandmother. The feeling of loss overwhelmed me. We visited awhile and I assured her I was going to be okay and that I could and would take care of myself when I returned to Vietnam. I would be sure and write to her. We said our goodbyes that day but somehow I knew it would be the last time I saw her, too. The deep grief would eventually do its dirty deed. It happened all the time. I would miss these two people I had grown up to love. I could not stand to see her that way, so filled with grief. Perhaps my experiences in Vietnam had not hardened me as much as I thought. She was grieving herself to death and that made me very sad.

When I finished my second year in Vietnam, I was sent home for 30 days leave. My first stop as I returned to the old neighborhood was to see Mrs. Dotson. I saw a real estate sign in the yard. There were several people carrying things out of the house and loading them on a covered trailer. I pulled up in the driveway, stopped and got out of my car. When a man came out of the house again I approached him and introduced myself. He was about 35-45 years old, their youngest son.

Mrs. Dotson had passed 5 months ago and they were removing the possessions collected by these two lovers during 60 plus years together. The house that he and his brother never seemed to have time to visit was being sold. I looked at him in disgust and as I was walking away, tears streaming down my face, I said ‘you should have come a lot sooner’.

I slowly walked around the house to that place where it all began so many years before, underneath that old cherry tree. I cried away the tears and said a small prayer for these two people I had grown to love so dearly.  Looking to the top of that old cherry tree, to my once favorite spot among the branches, through the tears I couldn't help but smile, as I remembered so vividly the first day a stranger called me out of that old cherry tree.

I often look back on the days of my childhood. I had a good life as a child. Learned my values from good, loving people. But, I’ll never forget two of the most important and wonderful people in my life, Mr. And Mrs. Dotson. I am thankful for the times we shared and for the lessons they taught me.  I know they rest in eternal peace, hand in hand, together again at last.

 

 

 

Author's Note

Not sure what category this should be classified as, suggestions? Description of the surroundings detailed enough? Flow of the story, easy to follow?

Reviews

[Collodi]

I think this is a wonderful start to a vignette autobiography or a longer work. It depends what you want to do here.

POV: 1st person. You can do alot but remember the camera is close to ego's head, so you need to be careful that we also see the scenery as well. We can only experience that from ego.

CHARACTER: We get a vague notion of character early on with the I, but we don't get a good view of him until much later. Try to make it very clear who "I" is. The whole, who, what, where, and when. This allows the reader to quickly ease into the story. The first character we really get a good character study of is the new owner of the house, when we should've had a good view of "I". That means leading more detailed information about who this boy is and what he's all about, and that can be done easily by expressing what he's not (by the opposition of his environment). His age comes out late, so we have to guess how old a boy he is. Make it come out early.

PLOT: Plot takes a while to really get going given the length of this piece. A very touching vignette. What I wonder is what you want to do with this? Is this going to be a part of a larger work based on this relationship? Or a part of a series of vignettes? The reason I ask is because how you approach plot and story will vary depending upon your goal here. I would've liked to know more about what lessons were taught and how they were taught, for example, and more about the time actually spent with them over the years, so we see it, experience it, and not just hear about it second hand. The problem with a focus on highlights like the first time I met and the last time I saw, is we, the reader, can understand these are impact points, but they don't talk about the actual relationship. You need to show us the days spent talking in the yard. The everyday stuff.

SETTING: A vague notion of setting. We know it's summer and it's Oklahoma, and also that he's up in a tree, but not much else. Float an eye around so we get a feel for the neighbourhood and also what's around the tree too.

THEME: A nice slice of life piece with second parents who influenced your life.

STRUCTURE: Be careful of the overuse of passive voice which distances the reader from the story. You don't want to tell the story to the reader, you want the reader to be "in" the story, experiencing it from the protagonist's POV. The easiest solution for this is to minimize the use of linking verbs or auxillary verbs, which are passive. The most obvious one is the passive "to be" verb (is, was, were, had, have, be, been, have been, etc.). Replace them with an active verb. The exception is past perfect. So, if you look at that first paragraph it is entirely told and passive. Remember, this is not a hard and fast rule. There are valid times when you want to be passive and also when you want to tell.

Hope that gives you some ideas.

You're also telling this as a history, so I wonder if this autobiographical. If so, that's fine. However, remember, the magic is in us readers living the moment as well. So, when you are in the past, be in the past, and don't float out of it unless there's an absolutely necessary reason to do so. Shifting time frames is hard on a reader and has to be done delicately.